Bloodsong
by Maristela Freesia
Summary: It's the Fifteenth Hunger Games. Twenty-four enter the slaughter. One will come out on top.


**So I just wanna say, the only OC's in here are escorts. And this will be a full-length story. If you're interested in more information, check out my new blog: maristelafreesia(dot)blogspot(dot)com because it will eventually have some behind-the-scenes information. Yes, I know, Aphasia isn't a major character, but I swear, she was named.**

**This story, by the way, is brought to you in part by my sister/test reader (who reads my outlines and laughs when I write things like "Blaine is hot" (shut up, that was really on there)), my cousin Alex and friends Avery and Sabrina (two THG and Glee fans) and Rhaspody (who was really nice about not minding that I was going to have a THGlee story like hers (I think you're a her, sorry if you're not!) and I know that some district/tribute choices are the same, but I swear I made this list in, like, November). Go read The Hunger Gleeks when you're done.**

**I'm trying to stick a bit of canon in here, but yes, I know Tina doesn't really stutter. Artistic liberty. Tell me what I can do better, please. My characterization? Yeah, it probably will suck.**

**This starts post-reapings with the recap- a nice, long chapter with plenty of little twisty-turny moments. Hope you enjoy.**

**bloodsong**

(chapter one; sounds like a death march)

Tina Cohen-Chang is having a minor panic attack.

Well, not exactly minor. Probably a little more major. Yes, that's it. Because nobody, _nobody_ ever wants to be in the Hunger Games. And she's on the train. On her way to the Capitol. Most likely, on her way to her death.

That isn't the worst part, either. Being sent to die for entertainment is awful, there's no way around it. But Tina can stomach that. What she can't take is-

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

"Come in." Her voice is quiet, hollow, and scared. It's the first time she's spoken since she boarded the train, and it sounds strange.

"Could you get the door?" She knows who it is. She's known her district counterpart for years. He's her best friend. He's everything to her.

He's in the Games, and stuck in a wheelchair.

With hardly a sound, Tina slides off her bed and towards the door, pushing her panic away. She pulls the compartment door open, and sure enough, Artie is sitting there, in his wheelchair, looking morose. Angry. Upset. Scared. Everything she's too afraid to let anybody else see.

Skillfully, Tina navigates the front wheels of the wheelchair into the compartment, slides behind him, and pushes it in. Normally, Artie might be stuck with bedrest all day, because he can't move. They're lucky they live in District Three, the technology district, with people to make things like wheelchairs. The thought doesn't deter from the fact that he needs a wheelchair, which is sad.

For a minute, as Tina flops back onto her bed, neither of them speak. Artie is the first to break the silence, with two simple words: "It's hard."

"It's not fair," she answers, not letting herself look him in the eye. He would see the pity, and he might hate her a little bit for it. "How could they just let you go in like that?"

"Tina-"

"It's _not_ all right," the girl in question snaps, knowing what her closest friend would say. She knows him well enough to know that he'll _insist_ that he's fine, even when he's really not. She looks him in the eye. Her face is alight with fury; his filled with resignation. "I-i-it is n-n-_not_ all right!"

Mortified, she claps her hands over her mouth. Artie might not understand, but she absolutely _hates_ when her stutter comes out. For the most part, it's under her control, but when she's really upset for whatever reason, it comes out. It's something that sets her apart from everyone else against her will- not quite what she's going for.

As suspected, Artie rolls his eyes at her reaction. "Tina," he says patiently, "stuttering isn't that big of a deal. It might even help you, the shy girl who's scared for her friend."

Tina pauses to consider this. That wasn't what she'd been thinking of at all, but it was actually a good idea. As she goes quiet, Artie presses on to say, "I know you're scared. I'm just as scared as you are. But we've got to believe that we'll be okay, because it's the only way we'll stay sane. Got it?"

Begrudgingly, she nods. A small smile flickers across Artie's face. "Good. Imallie says it's time to watch the reapings. C'mon." He wheels himself so that she can push him out. With a small smile to match her closest friend's, Tina stands up, grabs the handles, and maneuvers him out towards the main compartment.

There are two people sitting on a couch, awaiting them in the main compartment: the sole District Three victor- their mentor- and their escort. The victor is a woman named Emma Pillsbury who won the 6th Games. Emma had done her best not to kill, but ended up with blood on her hands, both metaphorically and literally. Ever since then, she'd become more and more obsessive-compulsive about dirt and things that could leave a mess. Tina feels sorry for her, but does not want to be like her.

The escort is a tiny woman named Imallie Pradt. She's clad from head to toe, complete with hair dye, in a disgustingly artificial shade of magenta. Imallie is tiny, though, particularly next to other people, even those of average height like Emma. And the Capitol woman jumps and squeaks when she's scared. Standing in front of the hulking eighteen-year-olds seems to give her a heart attack every year.

"Ready to see your competition?" Emma asks with a terse smile. Tina nods, not trusting herself to speak, nerves making her shake a little bit and possibly bring out her stutter. She wheels Artie to sit next to a single chair, which she then sits on, just in time to see the reapings.

The announcers make a big show about how it's already the Fifteenth Games, and isn't it funny how time flies, and it's only ten years until the milestone Quarter Quell that they keep hearing rumors about, how exciting! Before long, though, the driveling comes to an end, and they're displaying District One.

The escort calls for a boy named Jesse- he comes out of the seventeens, tall, good-looking, and an annoyingly typical Career-type. Tina watches him, the way he moves, the way he reacts, and finally decides that he's trained and dangerous. Next is a girl named Brittany, who comes out of the fifteens. Brittany is pretty, but not beautiful, and she has a vacant look in her eye that makes Tina think that she's maybe not the shiniest jewel on the necklace.

Next to her, Artie nudges Tina. "Maybe we should go with Brittany."

_"What?"_ she hisses, shocked. She'd hoped that Artie would see that she was a dunce. There'd better be good reasoning behind this.

"She has a completely different skill set, and since she's from One, she'll have sponsors practically lining up."

Even though both of these are completely true and possibly helpful, Tina suspects that he really just wants Brittany because she's pretty, blonde, and kind of curvy. There's something about Brittany that she doesn't exactly like. It's _not_ that Artie seems to like her, though. That isn't what bothers her. It's... something else. She'll figure it out later. Because even though some little part of her is saying she's jealous, Tina can easily shut that little part up. Because its _not true._

Anyways.

District Two's male tribute is making his way towards the stage. Imallie squeaks loudly over his first name, but Tina manages to catch that his last name is Kurtofsky or something. He's big, hulking, and looks like he could easily smash someone's skull in. It's absolutely terrifying. The girl, Rachel, is smaller, but she has something in the way she walks that makes her seem just as deadly in a different way. Even Artie seems to silently agree: no allies here.

Imallie squeals delightedly when she appears on the screen, trotting towards the reaping bowl. Tina swallows hard. It's the first reaping where the girl's called first, and she feels sick. She's about to be on every single screen, on every single television, in the whole of Panem.

Sure enough, this thought has barely crossed her mind when her name is called. She can barely see Artie squeeze her hand before she shoulders her way out of the sixteens. There's some strange kind of defeat etched onto her face. as though she's ready to die. And suddenly Artie's up, and everyone can see Tina clamp her hand over her mouth as though to say _not him, not him, not him._ He pushes his way out of the sixteens, then gets stuck at the stairs. Quickly, despair replacing the defeat, she runs over and helps him navigate up the stairs.

_The shy girl who's scared for her friend._ Maybe Artie was onto something there. She can certainly use this reaping to her advantage if that angle works. As though reading her mind, he flashes her a brief smile from next to him, which she returns with one of her own.

And just like that, District Four's sand and oceans are on the screen. They call up a girl- Mercedes- whose chocolate skin and thicker body are distinctive against all the slender, muscular white and golden tan of everybody else in her district. Tina wonders what genetic twist of fate gave her the extra weight and darker skin. Her face is a puzzle, flickering between calm and panic, hope and despair. Mike, the boy, is almost the total opposite. He looks like he could be of some kind of foreign descent, like her- she thinks she's heard talk about Asia, somewhere far, far away from Panem. And he's not exactly scrawny, either- kind of muscular. It's nice.

Suddenly Tina's thinking about how he's probably going to be the best-looking guy she'll see before she dies, and maybe it'd be nice if she could at least _talk_ to some gorgeous guy before her brutal slaughter. One who understands, one who won't think she's a freak. Maybe it could be him...

"What do you think?" Artie murmurs, startling her out of her reverie. Forcing herself to act nonchalant- she doesn't want her closest _guy_ friend to see her drooling over a guy, that's what girl friends are for- she shrugs. "Maybe we could ally with either, they both seem like puzzles to me," she answers. Artie nods. "We'll wait," he confirms.

Before she's entirely aware of what she's doing, Tina's head is leaning onto Artie's shoulder. It's weird, but even though he's in a wheelchair, she wonders if he's been getting taller. It's nice, being together, almost like they're one person. And maybe the days ahead will be hell. Maybe neither of them will live- or, worse, one will have to live without the other. But right then and there, Tina makes a decision: screw that. She'll live in the moment, and right now, the moment is telling her that she'd better appreciate Artie.

She listens to the moment.

=O=O=O=

As Aphasia Darren watches the reapings, she has to face facts.

The facts are saying that since she's going to kill these bitches, none of this matters.

In fourteen years, District Six has had exactly one victor. This victor only won last year- the fourteenth. Brenda Castle, only nineteen years of age- six years older than Aphasia- is sitting behind her, flask of some disgusting alcohol in one hand, bottle of some deadly pill in the other. She'd turned to these things in despair, and since she's rich as can be and living in the medicine district, they're easily at her disposal. It's sad and disgusting, and Aphasia can't believe that she's wasting her fame, her fortune, on that junk. When she wins- and she _will_ win, she knows she will- she'll do more important things.

Aphasia is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, knees tucked to her chest. She's going to be the innocent little girl, only thirteen years old, and nobody, not even her mentor or escort or partner, will know that she'll kill everybody. Behind her, Mahogany- the tall, big-boned, stoic, red-sarong-wearing escort- does not react to anything. Brenda stares listlessly at the screen, occasionally swallowing one of the two poisons called "pills" and "drink" in her hands. She's going to kill herself. Anthony, the seventeen-year-old who she has the displeasure of being "partnered" with, keeps sucking in breaths in shock at the bigger tributes- that Karofsky guy had even elicited a gasp from Mahogany- and patting her comfortingly on the shoulder. Occassionally she looks up, eyes shining with tears of thanks for the comfort, chin quivering with emotion, and he just pats her head. _Sucker._

District Five comes up, and some wimpy-looking girl from the fourteens named Suzy is called up. She may be two years older than Aphasia, but all she can see is dead meat. Then, some guy named Blaine is called up, and she has to keep herself from rolling her eyes. The name just sounds _weak_. She'll take a twelve-year-old any day.

Only it turns out that Blaine is eighteen and handsome. And he looks a little better-off in the muscle department than her. So right then and there, Aphasia decides that Blaine should be the first person she tries and allies with.

Not _just_ because of looks. Only _mostly_ because of looks. A very small part of it is muscles, which _always_ helps.

Anthony pats her on the shoulder. "You ready to see yourself?" he whispers. Aphasia allows a moment for tears to pool in her eyes, making her look scared, before looking up and smiling. "I guess," she murmurs, letting herself sound nervous. "I dunno."

Brenda glances down at her, eyes glazed and unfocused due to intoxication. She gives what Aphasia thinks is supposed to be a comforting smile. "I'snot that bad, swee'art," she says, slurring her words in the first time she's spoken all night. "Y'jus' need t'figger out 'f the way y'reacted'll help in th'inter..." The redhead suddenly trails off and swallows another drink of alcohol, then falls silent. Anthony rolls his eyes and smiles in a more-comforting way, then points at the TV. And for some reason, Aphasia finds herself feeling better now that he's smiled at her.

But it's just a fluke.

On the screen, Aphasia-from-a-few-hours-ago gasps when her name is called and starts shaking. A friend gives her a hug, but then pushes her rudely out of the section towards the stage. Trembling, ever the weak and innocent girl, she walks up and stands. When Anthony's called, he forces himself to look casual, but that's just it- he has to _force_ himself, and it's clear. He puts an arm around Aphasia's shoulders when he reaches the stage. They make quite a pair, what with him being so much taller than her.

"I think you could use that angle." Mahogany's deep voice unexpectedly booms out from behind Aphasia, and she whirls around to face the redhead. Their escort continues, "You could make it look like he helps you."

_He helps me? Yeah, right! _Aphasia wants to scream, but instead offers a watery smile. "M-maybe," she murmurs, turning back to the television just as District Seven's forests pop up. The escort calls the boy first- his name is Sam, and he looks just as good as Blaine, but blonde instead of dark-haired. Then there's the girl, Santana, and suddenly Aphasia finds herself shuddering. Santana is small, but she looks kind of well-muscled, and there's something behind her eye, the spark of knowledge, of craftiness, that's a little scary.

It's like looking in the mirror.

Aphasia has to marvel at how the first eight tributes had no possible allies, but after seeing four new ones, she has three prospective teammates to kill. That's exciting.

District Eight comes up- factories and well-dressed, less-than-well-fed people are standing there. The girl, Lauren, looks just as big-boned as Mahogany, or that one girl from Four- Sadie or something. The only difference is that unlike the other two, Lauren does not look like she's had enough to eat- in fact, it's a little gross, because it seems like she used to be big, but her body shrank and left its skin just as big. It takes every bit of self-control to keep from making a face.

Then the boy is called up, and he's from the twelves and shaking- more than her, because he's really scared. The boy is walking up and beginning to cry when suddenly- from out of nowhere- a voice yells, "Stop!"

Every camera whirls to the fifteens, where a boy- a kind of cute boy, who looks better-fed and dressed than everyone around him- is running out. He pushes the twelve-year-old behind him. "You are not sending this boy to slaughter! I'm volunteering as tribute!"

The entire crowd is suddenly ablaze with whispers- most of them sound like "what's he doing" and "is that allowed" to Aphasia. She's marveling at the gutsy move, but also at the utter stupidity. This kid has more meat on his bones than a normal Eight kid, sure, but he also looks... _killable._ Like he's going to cower in fear as some big hulking tribute- or maybe her- slits his throat.

The single victor behind the escort stands up, face torn between pain and anger. "Kurt, you need to-"

"No!" The older boy's- Kurt's, probably- blue-green eyes flash with anger. "I'm not going to let them kill a twelve-year-old, Dad."

_He's a victor's son._ The commentators- and Aphasia- find themselves stunned by this development. She glances behind her and finds Anthony staring in total shock, Mahogany gaping, and Brenda looking more sober than she has in the last year.

Kurt has climbed up onto the stage. "My name is Kurt Hummel, and I am going to be the District Eight tribute. You won't convince me otherwise." This comes with a pointed glare at his father.

Despite this fascinating development, Aphasia still finds him killable and un-ally-able. Something like that. Which leaves her with just three possible allies.

Three allies, in thirteen other tributes so far. _Three._ It's almost too many, Aphasia thinks to herself. Smaller alliances are better- she was hoping for one, maybe two. But between Blaine, Santana, and Sam, she can't just pick one or two. They all look dangerous, like she is, particularly Santana. They would be a perfect alliance.

And the best part would be sticking the knives in their backs.

=O=O=O=

Noah Puckerman does not normally have trouble focusing. In fact, he can be very focused. Just not when Quinn Fabray's head is leaning on his shoulder, and she's scared. Then, he has to focus a bit on her, and not the reapings.

The fact is that when it's just him, Quinn, and Ke'Lyza- their escort- and none of them are very experienced in killing- although Puck can hold his own in a fight- and they have no mentor, he's going to be a little nervous. He needs to watch- he needs to see what they're up against- but just when he's really getting into it, Quinn will start shaking again, and he'll need to come out of his little bubble to make her feel better.

_No mentor._ Fourteen years and they have no mentor- no victor for District Nine. And if it means killing Quinn, there probably won't be one next year. Quinn won't kill anyone- Puck knows this. Not if she can help it. She's more talk than action- she's the ice that won't really freeze. And he won't kill her. He hasn't sorted out what he feels for her just yet, but she's something special to him, not just another girl. He will not kill Quinn Fabray.

"It's your turn!" Ke'Lyza squeals, clapping her hands excitedly. Puck rolls his eyes, annoyed by her happniess at their death sentence. Quinn seems to realize she's actually leaning on him, and sits upright, all prim and proper and it drives him crazy.

Ke'Lyza applauds herself as reaping-time-Ke'Lyza trots onto the stage. To Puck's disbelief, before they're even called, the camera zooms in on him and Quinn in the seventeens, and the commentators say something or other about what they think the thing she's holding is. He can sort of feel Quinn stiffen in shock next to him. "That's creepy," she whispers.

Ke'Lyza looks back at them indignantly from her position on the floor. "I know those two! It's just a coincidence- are you _accusing-_"

"Quinn Fabray!" Reaping-Ke'Lyza calls, saving the real-time Quinn and Puck from her real-time wrath. On the screen, Quinn gasps, and the cameras focus on her again. Arms tighten around a bundle in her arms, and then tremble as they hand the bundle to Puck.

In the space between them, Beth awakes and begins wailing.

The world is stunned, Puck can almost feel it. He can feel all the tributes with remnant shreds of empathy stiffening at a _mother_ going in the arena, gasping at the injustice. Even the commentators have a moment of pause. Perfect, crystalline tears are dripping from Quinn's eyelashes, giving her a broken-angel kind of feel- and _that is too cheesy, Noah, you need to stop thinking like that._

Bravely, Quinn makes her way up the stage. Ke'Lyza isn't sure what to make of this, but is saved from having to by needing to pull the boy. When she calls for Noah Puckerman, Quinn makes this sound- half-sob, half-scream- and claps a hand over her mouth. The cameras zoom in on Puck, the commentators wondering if he knows the boy who's been called, and gasping when he goes up the stairs, Beth still bundled in his arms.

Everyone is at a loss now. Between the sobbing Quinn and the clearly-trying-to-stay-calm Puck, it's like the roof of the sky fell in and landed on District Nine. Ke'Lyza squeakily wipes away a tear of her own and wraps up the reaping. Real-Quinn looks at Puck. "Why'd you bring Beth?" she asks in a low whisper.

"I didn't know what else to do. What would you have done?" he hisses back, wondering why there's so much sudden hostility in his voice. Quinn obviously feels it, because she stops trying to talk to him and turns to the screen, composure firmly back in place.

District Ten arises, and Puck has to marvel at their having had a victor. The tributes this year certainly won't be joining the ranks. The boy, Matt, looks big but dumb- Puck carefully avoids thinking the words "like I am"- and the girl, Becky, looks sweet but useless. He wonders if they're building the coffins already.

Eleven's fields and throngs of people are next on the screen. It looks huge, and it's a little daunting. First, the girl is called- _Sunshine,_ if that could be any better-fit to a farming district. She looks kind of cute- she's petite and kind of shaky-looking- but also completely harmless. On the other hand, Finn- which sounds like a District Four name if ever there was one- is big. He also has an easily likable air around him, although he looks kind of like the very-nervous, might-trip-over-his-own-two-feet-if-not-careful type.

Quinn seems to be on the same page as Puck, because she turns to him. "I think-"

"So do I." This seems to be all the agreement they need, because they both turn back to the television without another word.

District Twelve- another one that Puck has to wonder at their having a victor. They probably won't have another one for maybe thirty years. And once again, neither tribute seems to be noteworthy as a contender. Jacob and Andrea look like dead meat. He doesn't even bother trying to further assess them.

After some cheesy little best-reapings-of-the-year thing ("District Nine's was SO touching!" "But don't forget the first ever volunteer!") Quinn and Puck both stand up and walk towards their rooms without a word, leaving Ke'Lyza. They've almost reached Quinn's when Puck blurts out, "Are you nervous?"

Quinn gives him this skeptical look. "We're being tossed into a bloodbath and you want to know if I'm nervous?"

Puck, mentally slapping himself for the stupid question, just gives a shrug.

She looks at her feet and whispers, very quietly, "Yes."

"Fear is healthy," he offers, trying to make up for the question.

"So is not dying," she shoots back.

"I hope one of us makes it out. For Beth." For whatever reason, for Puck, these words are the ones that convince him that he has to try and win.

"I wish we could both make it out," Quinn murmurs. It's stunning to him- since when has Quinn cared whether he lives or dies?- and is about to say "That's sweet" but only gets as far as "that" before he cuts himself off and asks "Why? Don't you hate me?"

"Do you want me to?" Another unexpected answer. Hasn't anyone ever told her that it's rude to answer questions with questions?

"No." That's not the answer he wanted, but it's the one he means.

Satisfied, Quinn just smirks. "Beth needs both of her parents."

"Oh." That's also not the answer Puck wanted. For reasons he can't explain, he would rather have her answer "I don't want to lose you" or something.

Suddenly, the self-assured look drops right off her face. "Promise me something?" It's barely a whisper.

"Depends." His voice is wary- promises in the Games never seem to go well.

"Could you... try not to kill me?"

"Try," he repeats, not letting on that he probably wouldn't have anyways. "That's all I can promise."

"Thank you." Then, suddenly, in the most spur-of-the-moment, blink-and-you-miss-it, what-just-happened moves that he has ever seen, Quinn Fabray rises on tiptoe and kisses him on the cheek. Her face is scarlet, and his probably is too. "Good night," she whispers, running into her room.

Puck blinks and shakes his head. These are going to be the most interesting Games ever.

**Why, yes, I did stick a Kurtofsky joke in there. I hope you liked it.**

**And in case you can't tell: maaaajor Artie/Tina and Puck/Quinn lover. (And Rachel/Sam, but this is less likely to happen.) If there's anything I could do better, for God's sake, I accept anon reviews, and I don't hold concrit against you (although I will hold flames against you, that's just plain rude). So please, tell me. I don't want to seem desperate, I just need concrit. Love, Mari xoxo**


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